


Warlord of the Empire

by XWings_and_History



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XWings_and_History/pseuds/XWings_and_History
Summary: Exploring the moment Grand Moff Zsinj decided to grow a mustache.





	Warlord of the Empire

 

The thing with a dead man’s face spoke.

“Grand Moff Zsinj. Operation Cinder is to begin at once. Resistance. Rebellion. Defiance. These are concepts that cannot be allowed to persist. You are but one of many tools by which these ideas shall be burned away."

Zsinj felt his olive-green tunic tighten around his neck. He knew had had curried the late Emperor’s favor – that he had received the Messenger in his office aboard a Super Star Destroyer spoke to that – but he knew he lay beyond the Emperor’s true inner circle. This, though? This…creation of the Emperor now stood to reveal the secrets of the Empire to him.

“Your fleet will level every structure on the planet Serreno. You will then take the _Iron Fist_ to Mandalore, and disperse your ships to the following coordinates.”

Data streamed from the thing’s outstretched finger to Zsinj’s datapad. A map of the Quelli Oversector appeared on its screen, and quickly blossomed with dots marking sites the ships of Zsinj’s fleet should secure of destroy. At a glance, Zsinj recognized that many were military supply depots, black market shadowports, and industrial centers. He also noted facilities on worlds he had never suspected of harboring anything worth the Emperor’s attention. Zsinj shot a glance to his military attaché. General Melvar gave the barest hint of smirk, but something cold and dangerous worked behind his eyes. He, too, had noted just how poor his intelligence was in his own Oversector. Zsinj knew that Melvar’s intelligence chiefs would suffer for this.

“You will bombard the surface of Mandelore until its crust cracks. Its cities must burn. Extract what ore you can. After you have proven yourself worthy, my Messenger will then tell you the next steps.”

Zsinj looked again at the datapad. If Zsinj’s intelligence agents had missed all this, it meant this whole network of factories and laboratories and caches was truly off the books, totally unknown to the galaxy. He ran his finger across the screen of the datapad, stretching the instants the Messenger would give him before demanding his obedience. Zsinj turned his gaze to the Messenger and tapped his finger lightly across the pad.

A blaster bolt, bright and loud enough to have come from a rifle, streaked from an emitter disguised in the carvings of the Grand Moff’s deck. The Messenger’s bulbous, projector-screen head exploded in a spray of sparks and circuitry.

Before the thing hit the ground, Zsinj was spinning his chair, drawing his blaster and quickly bringing it to point at Melvar’s chest. To his infinite surprise, Zsinj caught Melvar on the draw, the handsome man’s own pistol pointed at the ground as he drew it across his chest.

Zsinj frowned. “There’s no way I beat you.”

Melvar gave a fuller smirk this time, even as he was careful to not move his arm and the pistol it held. “Indeed not. But if I didn’t at least make the effort, you might have killed me on the spot.”

Zsinj felt a bead of sweat run down his bald head and across his face. “Explain.”

Melvar nodded, then gestured his empty hand towards the datapad on the moff’s desk. “I know what that thing just gave us, and I know that you do, too. Our orders are clear: commit atrocities for minor military gain that will eventually get us executed for war crimes or ripped apart by an angry mob. Turn ourselves into tools not just of petty vengeance - something I'm usually quite fond of, but stupid rage. What's on that datapad is considerably more interesting. An invisible empire. The bones of a financial and manufacturing system that could be fully as dangerous as the _Iron Fist_. I know you well enough to know you think that sounds more fun than carrying out a dead man’s orders.”

Zsinj almost smiled, then straightened his arm to bring the pistol that much closer to Melvar’s chest, just out of striking reach. “You pieced that together quickly enough that I immediately wonder why you don’t just kill me and take it.”

Melvar gave a genuine smile. “Knowing how to read a map doesn’t mean I know what do with it. Which governors to lean on, which to appeal to their patriotism, which to bribe or kill. Oh, I know the _how_ of all those things. But I’m no politician. I’m an enforcer.” He smiled coldly. “I’m also quite sure that there are men with very clear orders to kill me slowly if you happen to die, by my hand or anyone else’s. Considering I probably trained them,” the general shrugged, “I know in detail what they can do. Serving you is the more prudent course, to say nothing of it also being more enjoyable.”

Zsinj thought, nodded, and slowly lowered his pistol. Melvar did the same, returning it to its holster. The general spoke first.

“What’s next?”

Zsinj cast a glance at the smoking ruin sprawled on the office floor. “We’ll need something to tell the fleet. Just a few officers first, people you know will share our, ah… ambitions for the future. Get them in position to hijack or lockdown their ships, as need be.” Zsinj began to pace. “Even with that done, we’ll still need some enforcers to keep control while we weed out the holdouts and promote our own people.” An idea struck him. “Send a ship, let’s make it the _Raptor,_ to Mandalore. Offer them the standard ‘warrior barbarian’ package – a lifetime of conquest and plunder, the chance to form a new empire, the usual,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

Melvar nodded, already sending the necessary messages on his datapad. After a moment, he looked up, satisfied. “And what will we be telling the fleet, exactly?"

Zsinj looked at the charred hole where the Emperor’s face once shone. “Tell them that the Emperor’s last command was to name me Warlord of the Empire. Tell them that we will honor his memory by carving our own empire from the stars. Tell them that the past is dead, but the future is ours.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been bouncing around my head since I first learned about Operation Cinder. How would Zsinj and Melvar have reacted to really stupid orders? How does one decide to become a warlord?


End file.
